Into The Depths Of Self Discovery
by Thisa
Summary: Sanji gets devastated thanks to the persons closest to him. He decides to prove them all wrong by following his dream to the other side of earth. How will his life change when he sets foot in a country he knows barely nothing about?
1. Ambitions

_My first story after three long years without posting anything here! Hope you will enjoy!_

_**~Into the depths of self discovery~**  
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He woke up by his window slamming the walls of his room in the wind. The blonde yawned. He probably forgot to close the window before he went to bed last night. Too lazy to get up he lingered in his comfortable cocoon of bed linen. The blond idly stared into the brown wooden ceiling with half covered eyes. Was it saturday? No, it couldn't be. Sunday? _"Fucked if I knew" _he muttered to himself as he turned his tired but still handsome face towards the clock radio to gain enlightment about what time it was. He blinked to make the fuzzy red numbers come into focus. Then blinked again. Three minutes past ten. So it was still weekend. Otherwise his cell would have gone off an hour ago when Zeff, the owner of the restaurant he worked at, would call to scold the shit out of him for being late.

Sanji's room wasn't very personal. The walls were light yellow and naked. No decorations except an old, faded poster that read "All blue". The floor was like a mirror reflecting the ceiling since it was made of the same wood. Two windows and a tiny balcony that hoovered over the lawn were the biggest light sources. Apart from the modest bed he was sleeping in he had a desk, a lanky chair, a wardrobe with a mirror, a bedside table and two book shelves. The book shelves were made of oak and were probably the prettiest thing he had in the room, except the books filling them up of course. He had a wide selection of literature. Mostly about cooking. The teal plastic bag filled with new books he bought yesterday was laying thrown at the floor next to the door.

After becoming the sous-chef at the restaurant he DID earn enough to get himself a decent apartment but he had gotten so used to this room he rented. It felt like his sanctuary where he could rest after a tough day's work and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out wether another place would make him feel the same.

After all he had the pivacy he wanted eventhough his room was placed on top of an old couple's house; He had his own bathroon with a shower, a small kitchenette opposite of the bathroom (the two rooms being seperated by a tiny, tiny hall) and the stairs that led down to ground level were seperated from the rest of the house. So he didn't have to interact with the couple living there unless he wanted to. They were two ridiculously kind persons anyway and it was always nice take some money off of the rent by cooking them one of his outstanding meals from time to time.

Sanji slowly sat up in his bed facing the window. The sun playfully placed its rays in his messy hair and made it look like gold. His back was crooked and his eye lids were heavy. Underneath his currently illuminated hair his world was lightly spinning. He grunted as he rubbed the sleep out of his ocean blue eyes. He shouldn't have had that last shot of tequila at the club with his friends last night. He wasn't a big fan of alcohol anyway, especially not that kind you had just to surpress your fears and thoughts to act on instincts.

He'd seen it too many times — the pathetic guys that didn't have the guts to approach a woman without gulping themselves full of poison, like their lives depended on it, first. When it came to alcohol he prefered a fine wine in good company of a classy lady. But yesterday night getting drunk seemed like a good idea. He had too much going on in his head lately and he hadn't slept decently for a long time. So yeah, that night was well deserved exception.

The young chef's legs were coated in soft, grey fabric sewn into sweat pants. They were hanging pretty low on his hips revealing the black underwear hugging his hips. He slipped his feet inside a pair of white slippers with rabbit ears. He had gotten them as a joke once but at least they kept him from freezing. The blonde stood up and went over to the window. He had to squint as the daylight now shone straight in his face. Placing his elbows on the window sill he noticed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. That's probably why the window was left open. He was smoking last night and in his numb state he had probably left the red and white package of smokes over there and stumbled into bed.

He took out one of the sticks and lit up. The wind played with his golden bangs as he felt the nicotine stimulate his body. He was watching a ludicrously happy family having breakfast picnic in the city park his rented room was close to. He observed them for a minute before he lost interest. With an indifferent expression on his face he turned around and looked at the plastic bag waiting for him on the floor. Lips curling into a frown.

~—:~:—*—:~:—~

Zoro kicked his shoes off before he stepped up from the genkan in his two room apartment. He sighed heavily and threw his black shoulder bag on the couch. He was fucking exhausted — again. This job was killing him. He thought that after graduating it wouldn't be so damn hectical but he was wrong. He thought a job would leave him with free time after returning home — wrong again. The tall green haired man opened the fridge and looked for something liquid. He found a bottle of grapefruit juice.

_"Whatever_" he mumbled as he opened it and started drinking straight from the bottle.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and threw the bottle into the glass container. Even before Zoro graduated three months ago he had a job offer waiting for him. It was one of Tokyo's top agencies that had had their eyes on him. Zoro of course accepted. The monthly pay was ridiculously high but he hadn't known it would be so goddamn hectic. Well, he had to admit he still loved the job. The income also let him pay off his study loans and still he was left with more than enough money every month.

The young man went over to the mirror in his hallway. He eyed himself tiredly. His green hair was cut into a short, neat, fashionable hair style. The sides being shorter and the hair on top slightly longer. All held in place with just the right ammount of wax. His masculine face with that beautiful sun-kissed skin was decorated with a pair of glasses. The frame of the 70's-inspired glasses was jet black. In his left ear dangled three golden earrings. They made pleasant, modest noises when he was moving his head around.

Below his strong, square jaw a coffee coloured scarf was hugging his neck loosely. His muscular, broad upper body was covered by a grey t-shirt with some colourful print. On top of that he wore a black suit jacket. A belt was keeping the blue slim fit jeans in place and the white sneakers he wore to the outfit were laying next to the door.

Zoro got closer to the mirror and rubbed the visible bags under his eyes. _"Man, this job is gonna kill me one day_" he muttered to himself. After realizing the bags wouldn't come off by rubbing he turned around to look at the digital clock on the microwave. Three minutes past five.

His left wrist was decorated with a white, plastic binary clock. The contrast it made against his tanned skin looked amazing. Zoro, however, prefered to consult the microwave in this matter since he couldn't decipher the damn wrist watch anyway. It was just there to look neat.

Something tickled his thigh followed by a squeeky tone. It didn't take long before he realized it was his cell. He picked up:

_"Hello?"_ It was his boss.

_"Zoro-san, don't forget we need those setups before 6:30 tonight, okay? Please hurry. Good luck!"_

His boss then quickly hung up. The exhausted young man sighed and put the metallic red phone down on the transparent coffee-table. The phone strap with the japanese sign for "ambition" made a small noise as it hit the glass.

The green haired man leaned over to the other couch next to him, to dig out the content of his black leather bag. When he got his sleek, black laptop out he put it on the coffee table and turned it on. After eying the blue LED lights dancing playfully over the keyboard as the computer turned on, he decided to go get a cup of coffee.

His apartment was modern and stylish. The walls in the living room, which was connected with the kitchen, were bright grey. Except the longest wall which consisted of a photo wallpaper of bamboo. The two couches were made of black leather. A grey and black zebra print carpet covered the bright parquet floor.

His kitchen was new and hi-tech. Zoro wasn't much of a cook though and usually always fed on take-away. So his kitchen looked almost unused. The wall to the right of his kitchen, opposite his couches, was entirely made of glass. It gave an amazing view over Tokyo since he lived on the top floor. The biggest reason he bought the flat in the first place, was cause of the view. He loved how the sun filled the room in the mornings. It put him in a good mood. And the sunsets were just out of this world.

The bathroom was made of grey sea stone and glass. It was unnecessarily spaceous and had both a huge shower and a big jacuzzi-looking bathtub. Everywhere were plants and spotlights. He even had two washbasins. One of the walls had a tiny, modest waterfall and another wall held white towels. There were huge windows is his bathroom as well, but luckily they came with straw blinds.

Zoro's bedroom was simple. Quite small but big enough to fit a king size bed. This room also had bright grey walls but instead of the fourth wall being covered with a bamboo print it was covered with a jungle one. Opposite his bed stood a stylish red couch on which he usually threw his clothes.

~—:~:—*—:~:—~

Sanji picked up the plastic bag with books. He eyed it suspiciously, as if it would bite him if he put his hands inside. Suddenly he threw it on his bed and started rubbing his stomach. He wasn't wearing a shirt and one could easily see the muscles under his milky skin. He wasn't a man of raw strength, but god save the one who underestimated his lethal combination of agility and technique. The blonde often practiced his fighting style in the dojo nearby. Martial arts was a big interest of his and a nice contrast to the busy life of cooking. But he didn't like to use his hands in combat, hence he developed his own fighting style — entierly based on kicks.

He headed for the fridge in his small kitchenette. It offered him a yoghurt which probably was old already and two eggs. He made a disappointed face. Closing the fridge door he decided to grab a shower and head out.

Sanji toweled his golden strands. He threw on his grey sweats again along with a white t-shirt. It had a nice v-neck and revealed his sleek but yet muscular chest. He jumped into his black pumas, grabbed the bag with books and started locking the door. Holding the keys mid-air he froze. _"Ah!" _he blurted out and ran inside after his cigarettes and his cell that he forgot right before leaving. He made a second attempt at locking his door and leaving - succesfully this time. He ran down the stairs and disappeared.

~—:~:—*—:~:—~

Zoro put down his now empty cup of coffee on the table. He had just finished his work and looked forward to taking a nap. He checked the time again. 10 minutes before deadline. Exactly when he sent the material to his boss via mail his phone started vibrating on the table again. He picked up.

"This is Zoro. I can't pick up right now so plea— " he was interrupted.

"Really funny Zoro-san, I need those setups _now! _We're running out of time an— oh! I just got your mail! Never mind. Have a good evening!"

The green haired man leaned his head backwards on the dorsal of the couch. He stared distantly into the ceiling for a while. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. After a while of relaxing he turned his head to look at his three katana hanging safely on the wall. He got the urge to go practice with them but was too tired. It had to wait. He didn't like how his new job made him put his hobbies aside, but he needed the cash.

After another quick look at his katana he jumped out of the couch. _"Fuck it" _he said bluntly, and grabbed his three most precious belongings from the wall. He packed them down with care in the rectangular bag. After harassing the red couch by throwing his clothes on it, he was now dressed for Kendo practice. He left his apartment (which to Zoro's happiness had an auto lock on the door) and headed for the elevator. Right before the doors closed he waved to a neighbour that curiously peeked inside.

He threw the bag into the back seat of his sleek, carbon black aston martin and took off.


	2. For what it's worth

Sanji was sitting under a tree close to the beach. Since he lived in Caen in north of France it wasn't too hard to get to the ocean in a decent ammount of time. His long, slender legs were crossed on top of one another and he was holding one of the books he bought the other day in his hands. His face wore a serious expression and the blonde eyebrows looked concentrated. He seemed to be taking in a lot of information. The surroundings smelled of warm sand and salt water.

The book he was reading was a book about japanese food culture. The cook had a burning passion for japanese food, especially fish. Ever since he was an apprentice, he had heard amazing stories about the creatures living around the coasts of Japan. If a chef got his hands on the rarities he could cook the most epic dishes.

People had always been mocking the cook though, cause it was all a myth. A myth the ancient japanese inhabitants had come up with. It was obvious any person believing in sea creatures no one had ever seen - was a moron.

Sanji sighed as he licked one finger tip and turned the page. His concentrated look let go of him and was replaced with a relaxed one. He stared into the blue sky and locked his gaze on a seagull. All the white spots in the sky looked like snow flakes on a window, rinning down after a storm. He rested his yellow hair against the tree.

Okay, it probably wasn't true but he wasn't ready to abandon his ambitions without giving it a damn try first. That wasn't like him. He shook some sand out between the pages of the book, closed it and put it back into the bag. He then took the second one out. One about tales and myths of Japan. He opened it and started reading with interest.

~—:~:—*—:~:—~

Zoro's hair was all messy and pointing in all different kinds of directions. He'd been working really hard with his katana tonight in the dojo. Sweat was gathering on his upper lip, leaving a shining pearl on his cupid's bow. A tanned hand wiped the salty liquid from his forehead. He was breathing deeply and enjoyed the feeling of his tired and protesting muscles.

On his way into the dressing room to take a shower he changed his mind and dug out his car keys instead. He wanted to take a shower, no, he wanted to have a relaxing BATH at home.

Making sure all his three katana were sheathed securely in the bag, he took out a small towel and dried the sweat from his feet. Slipping into his white sneakers he grabbed the bag and headed for the car. As he was going to unlock it a familiar voice shouted behind him:

"Hey, Zoro!"

He turned around to face his old Sensei, the owner of the dojo.

"Oh, Mihawk. What's up?." he said with a smile.

"I'll be brief with you, I can see you're tired and you wanna go back home. But hear me out okay? I have an offer for you."

Zoro looked at the slim man and blinked. In the evening his unusually yellow eyes seemed to glow even more. The black keikogi he was wearing contributed even more to the impression.

"Listen, I would like you to take over the evening lessons. The young kendo kids always admired you and you're my best student. I know you could do it. The other trainer moved to Kumamoto cause he got a job offer he didn't want to miss. And honestly I'm relieved cause he wasn't really one of our best."

Zoro processed what his sensei just had said. He lifted a hand and rubbed his neck before he said "Look, I appreciate your offer and all, bu—"

Mihawk interrupted him.

"Zoro, I beg of you. I have no time to do it myself and there is no one else I trust as much as you. I know you'd give them the ultimate training. You're one of the few people who still understand the meaning of this art, that it's not only made for kicking ass. You know what I'm saying?"

Zoro sighed and looked to the side. His earrings glimmered for a second in the street light.

"Honestly." he said briefly. "I barely have time for myself after this job I got. And I most definitely won't have time for a bunch of kids . . ."

Mihawk laughed. "You scared of kids?"

Zoro sighed heavily. He knew Mihawk never gave up when there was something he wanted.

"Okay, I'll help you out. But if I die of overexertion I'll sue your ass. Got that?"

Mihawk crossed his arms over his chest. "You can't sue me if you're dead, numbskull."

Zoro waved the thin mans comment off with his hand as he got into the driver's seat. He slid the window down. Mihawk walked up to Zoro as he backed the car out of the parking lot.

"I'll haunt you til you go freaking nuts then" the green haired man said and made a circular motion with his index finger, next to his temple. Mihawk smiled tauntingly.

"Thanks Zoro. I'll call and give you the details later." He turned back to the dojo and put one hand in the air to symbolize a goodbye.

Zoro looked at him in his side mirror. "Geez" he murmured to himself. Turned on the car radio and headed homewards.

~—:~:—*—:~:—~

"Zeff, just fucking hear me out okay?" Sanji was furious. The head chef of the restaurant that Sanji had known since he was a kid was the most stubborn excuse of a man he had ever met. It was true he admired Zeff for his unbeatable cooking skills, his strong personality and for everything he did for Sanji. Hell, he even lost his leg protecting the kid. Zeff had put up with Sanji's shit since he was a little squirt and he felt the old geezer was like a father to him. But he couldn't help getting utterly pissed at him. Something about him simply drove the young chef to madness.

Zeff was sitting in his office. His legs on the desk, well, one leg rather. The other one was a prosthesis. His long blonde moustache was hanging down from his face in braids. His clear blue eyes penetrated Sanji as he gazed straight at him. The skin of the father figure was lose and sunburnt. He had spots in his face indicating he was getting old. Strong arms stubbornly crossed his chest. Even though the man was old you could tell he was in good shape. Muscles ripped under his bare arms and his apron was messy with stains.

"No, you damn eggplant." He said with his hoarse voice. "You're not leaving my restaurant. I need my shitty excuse of a souse-chef to run my errands." he stated.

"Shitty old man. I aint running shit for you. The only reason I'm still at this restaurant is cause I know you would be bankrupt without my cooking skills." Sanji tried to calm down after his explosion. Fuck, this old fart jangled his nerves. "If I don't go now I'll never go and I'll be stuck cooking french shit for the rest of my life."

Zeff eyed him cautiously. "What do you want to do in Japan, you squirt? It's on the other side of the planet. You don't know the language, you don't know the customs, neither do you know how to get around nor how to take care of yourself. You're just a lil egg plant." The head chef insisted.

"First of all I'm no fucking lil egg plant no more" Sanji made a paus to light a cigarette. He cupped the lighter with his hand to protect the flame from the non-existing wind. "Second I can take care of myself perfectly. It's YOU who can't take care of your shitty self if I leave." He said and pointed a thumb at himself. Smoke trickling from the stick between his light pink lips.

Zeff sighed and stood up from his chair. He was shorter than Sanji. The man walked up to the younger chef. He put his hands on the blonde's shoulders. "Listen to me you naive, shitty excuse of a cook. Going to Japan to chase after a dream that doesn't exist will break your tiny heart in two. Don't you get it, squirt? There's nothing there to find. You'll be all lost in a country far from home regretting you weren't clever enough to listen to me. Forget about your lousy dream. It's not for real. Only morons go to seek that pathetic myth."

Sanji frowned. He held the cigarette between two fingers. Smoke coming out of his mouth as he spoke. "Fucking wait and see then."

Then he shook Zeff's hands off of his shoulders and bursted out the door.

The older chef sighed. "Patty, Carne, you can come out now."

The two chefs came out from behind the big wardrobe in Zeff's office. They were two of his best cooks in the restaurant.

"Zeff, weren't you a little harsh on him? I mean, you could have totally fucked his self esteem over there" Patty asked with big eyes. Carne nodded and added "I mean, it's obvious that sea doesn't exist but... I feel kind of sorry for him."

Zeff's hoarse voice spoke again. "Morons. Of course the sea exists. If I wouldn't go all hard on his ass he would never leave this place. The only thing I can do to help is to provoke the shit out of him."

Zeff was still standing where Sanji had left him, staring at the door his most talented cook had rushed out from. Maybe for the last time. He clenched his fists.

"Bring back one of those fish sometime . . ." Zeff whispered almost unhearably. His lips fighting the urge to curl into a sad frown.

~—:~:—*—:~:—~

Sanji was furious. He felt empty. His hands were shaking. He didn't know if he wanted to cry or shout. He was cursing inside his head. The stump between his lips had almost entirely turned to ashes but he didn't seem to realize.

Why did that old fart have to be such a twat? Why did he constantly have to fuck with Sanjis mind? Why was he so pissed at him but yet missed him ridiculously much already? He didn't know what hurt more. Zeff telling him his dream was pathetic or that he let himself be so fucking affected by what that shithead had said. He concluded he was just scared that the older chef would be right. That his dream was nothing but myths, _fantasy_, childish hope.

The blond was throwing all his things of importance down in a black adidas bag. The wardrobe was ripped open and the few sets of clothes he had were forced into the bag carelessly. He couldn't worry less about packing properly right now. _"Fucking shit"_ was repeating as a mantra inside of his head.

The literature was left behind. He didn't have space in his bag. He was sure that if he'd ever care to get them back the old couple would be nice enough to look after them until he did.

The books he bought earlier about japanese tales and cooking culture were laying on the table, mocking him. He took them up and threw them with too much force into the trash bin. They landed with a smash and the bin tipped over on the side. Sanji kicked the damn trash can as hard as he could. It flew into the wall and got a dent from his forceful kick.

_"FUCK!"_ he shouted. Tears started leaking from his clear blue orbs. The blond wiped the drops from his cheeks with the back of his hand. Carrying the bag in one hand he looked around one last time to see if he got all the important things. Eyeing the walls his gaze stopped on the "All blue" poster. He dropped his bag, ran over to the poster and ripped the curse down from the wall. Leaving it in two curled up pieces on the floor.

The blond grabbed his cell and keys. He ran downstairs_. "Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck" _echoing in his head. He put the keys and this months rent into an envelope that he dropped into the green mail box belonging to the old couple. He had at least been nice enough to scribble a "Thank you for everything" on it.

He was done in this shitty restaurant and he was done with its fucked up owner. Done. The fucking _end_. His stubbornness told him to get on the next flight to Japan and show them that he could do it all.


End file.
